Senseless
by thegreenpuma88
Summary: AU Set after season 10 & disregards season 11. Grif is caught in the middle of an old fight between the freelancers and an old enemy. Grimmons! Contains torture and some intense situations.
1. Prologue

So, this story idea came to me a couple of days ago and I just couldn't let it go….even though I have another story I need to finish… I promise I will finish _The Long Road Home_ but for now, hopefully this will suffice!

* * *

Grif didn't know where he was or what was happening. All he knew was the pain in his head, the throbbing in his ribs, and the tightly-wrapped duct tape pinning his wrists behind his back.

He breathed heavily through his nose, unable to talk through the tape wrapped around his mouth, trying to clear his head to figure out what on earth was going on. As he opened his eyes, he was met with darkness. Pure black. Grif squirmed in momentary panic before realizing that duct tape covered his eyes too. Great.

Groaning through his gag, Grif felt himself be dragged along rough terrain, dirt and twigs scratching his exposed skin. He whimpered quietly as his body took even more abuse. Whoever was doing this didn't care about his well-being. The jerky movements and overly tight grip on his bound ankles said that much.

After what seemed like an eternity, Grif's legs were dropped on the ground harshly. He yelped through the tape on his mouth and received a brutal kick in the side as punishment. The orange private screamed against the duct tape, the sound muffled and distorted. A gloved hand grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head upward.

"Listen up, you little bitch. You and your friends have something that belongs to me. Until I get it back, you're going to suffer. Better hope your friends care enough about you to save your sorry ass. Otherwise…you're going to die a slow, painful death."

Grif let out a quiet sob as the deep voice echoed in his ears. He sincerely doubted his team would save him. Whatever this psycho wanted was more valuable than him. His only hope would be that his death would find him swiftly.

A loud snap startled Grif out of his thoughts. Gloved hands grabbed him; the rough grasps bruising his upper arms as he was dragged to a semi-standing position and moved. Dex started to sob through the silver tape blocking his mouth, pleading for mercy as best he could. He couldn't stop the shaking in his limbs or the weakness in his knees.

"Cry all you want. You're not getting out of this one. If I have my way, you won't be getting out alive! But first, before we say goodbye, let's get a quick picture. I'm sure your friends would love to see you like this!"

Unbeknownst to Grif, his captor snapped a photo of him using a small electronic tablet, ready to send the image to Grif's comrades. Grinning sadistically, the unknown enemy gazed at the picture of the injured private, taking in the duct tape bindings, gag, and blindfold as well as the bruises and scratches decorating his mostly tan skin. Snapping out of his reverie, the man barked, "Throw him in!"

And then Grif was falling. Not far, maybe 4 feet or so, but he landed awkwardly on his left arm and leg and pain shot through the aforementioned limbs. A warm throbbing could now be felt from the injured areas and Grif knew that they were broken.

Even though Grif was in a lot of agony, he cautiously twisted and wormed his way to what felt like a dirt wall and propped himself up as best he could. Pulling his legs up as close to his chest as he could, Grif struggled to calm himself and slow his breathing down. Trapped in total darkness, unable to escape or move hardly, Grif slowly realized where he was.

A grave. They were burying him alive. If his teammates didn't find him in time, he would suffocate. The thought of suffocating and being buried alive caused a new wave of panic to wash over Grif. Crying out to his captors through the tape on his mouth, Grif sobbed and screamed for help. All he could hear was cold laughter.

Suddenly, a loud metallic thump was heard. It came from above his head and instantly sealed Grif in his grave, deadening all outside sounds. Of course, why kill him this fast when they could prolong his suffering. Grif bowed his head as the faint sound of dirt being thrown on top of the steel cover grew harder and harder to hear.

Then…there was silence. No, not silence. Grif could easily hear his racing heart and harsh breathing. Nothing else. With only his heartbeat and breathing to comfort him, Grif curled up even tighter and sobbed pitifully, resigned to his fate.

His friends would never find him now.

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Super short but it's a prologue so…yeah. Good? Bad? Leave Grif in his grave? Please give me some feedback here! I'm trying a little bit different writing style and I think I like it but I can't be sure. O_o


	2. Chapter 1

Sorry for taking so long to update! I started school again and I'm in internship this semester so I don't have a lot of free time. Hope you like this chapter. Thanks to everyone who reads and reviews this story. It means a lot to me!

* * *

Simmons sighed as Red base came into view from across Valhalla. The reds, minus Grif, had spent about 5 hours separating the rations and supplies Command had dropped off. After what seemed like an endless amount of time, Sarge had ordered Donut and Simmons to load up the jeep and drive back to Red base.

The drive wasn't too long but Simmons couldn't help but feel that something was wrong. Like on the scale of someone's hurt or missing wrong. Still he pushed the feeling away as he tuned out Donut's incessant chattering about the coloring in the base and interior decorating.

As soon as Sarge parked the jeep in the covered garage, Simmons and Donut immediately got to work unloading the crates of items and stacked them in the corner. The whole process took less than 5 minutes but for Simmons, it felt like an eternity. Something really didn't feel right.

"Alrigh' men! Things are put away n' no Grif in sight! Seems like a good day," Sarge boasted. At least he was in a good mood; that would mean that Simmons and Grif could probably sneak away for a little bit if they wanted.

With this knowledge in hand, Simmons pushed open the door to the living quarters of the base and walked on through, Donut and Sarge behind him. Vaguely aware that Donut had crashed into his back and was protesting, Simmons stood dazed at the scene before him.

The living room of the base was destroyed, broken furniture pieces scattered across the floor. Glass from Donut's prized decorative pieces was mixed into the fray along with a red substance that Simmons didn't want to think about. Taking a few stunned steps forward, Simmons looked around wordlessly, his brain trying to take in the picture before him.

Donut and Sarge pushed passed him, a gasp of surprise leaving Donut's mouth. Sarge was silent for a few moments before, "Where's Grif?"

And then Simmons knew. The bad feeling in his gut. Something had happened to Grif. Without another word, he dashed through the living room and down the hallway to their bedrooms. He didn't register that Sarge and Donut flanked him, their pistols drawn and at the ready.

When Simmons reached the bedroom that he and Grif shared, he slammed the door open, hoping to see an orange Spartan in the room. No such luck. Taking a quick glance through the room, he noticed that nothing was out of place. _'Grif never made it back here…'_

He looked back at Donut and Sarge, unsure of what to do. Sarge took a tentative step forward, a hand resting on Simmons' shoulder. Although Grif wasn't Sarge's favorite person, he knew that he and Simmons were close-much closer than he ever thought they would be-and he wasn't going to stop the relationship they had.

"Don't worry Simmons. I'm sure he's hidin' in the base from whatever ransacked the livin' room. Probably just waitin' fa us to find him."

Simmons swallowed the lump that suddenly appeared in his throat and nodded at Sarge. He appreciated the man keeping his not-so-fond opinion of Grif to himself at the moment. Looking back at the room, he opened his mouth to speak when he heard a shout from the front of the base.

"Hey Reds! Come here!"

Wash's voice echoed down the hallway; unsure of why their friends from across the canyon would be visiting, the remaining members of Red team hurried into the living room. Considering they had just been at Blue base, Simmons knew something was wrong.

Simmons was shocked to see all of the Blue team in the living room, seemingly unfazed by the destruction around them. As they entered the room, Wash and Tucker turned to look at him and his stomach sank. Pretty much everyone in the canyon (minus Caboose) knew of his and Grif's relationship with one another and seeing the looks directed at him was a very disconcerting feeling.

The former freelancer, now leader of Blue team, stepped forward, his data pad clenched in his hand. Throat dry, Simmons struggled to calm himself and slow his racing heart down. He was overreacting; he had to be.

"Wash? What's going on? What are you doing here?"

Wash hesitated a moment before holding up the data pad. On the screen was a picture of Grif, gagged, blindfolded, and beaten. Simmons heard himself cry out in disbelief before his knees went weak and he fell to the floor.

* * *

Grif moaned through the tape around his mouth. His leg and arm throbbed painfully and his throat was parched and dry. He had no way of knowing how long he had been buried for and he didn't particularly want to know.

All he knew was that his head ached, his body throbbed, and his mind was racing. Without any sounds or sights, Grif's mind was starting to play tricks on him and make up white noise. Anytime he heard a voice or thump, his heart jumped and he would get excited. And then it would hit him. There was no one there to save him and he was all alone, in his grave.

Already the air was stuffy and thinning. Even though he could only breathe in through his nose, he knew he only had a couple of hours left before he suffocated. The thought of dying in such a manner terrified him and a shiver ran through his body. Despite the heat in the bunker, goose bumps formed on his arms.

He didn't notice. His mind was spacing out, trying to save itself from the horror of the situation. Shifting minutely, ignoring the pain that shot through his left arm and leg, Grif settled against the wall, defeated and waiting for death to find him.

_Please save me Simmons._

* * *

Poor Grif. I can't believe I'm doing this to him. This story's already planned out in my head and I hope to update every month or so but I can't make any promises. Thanks for reading!


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